


Heartbeat Remix

by Tilly_the_Mouse



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: I literally could not think of what to call this collection, sorry bout it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilly_the_Mouse/pseuds/Tilly_the_Mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of drabbles, stand alones, and one-shots inspired by the multitudes of playlists I have for my OTPs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat Remix

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I was just listening to one of my playlists and started thinking of a drabble, so... yeah. Each chapter will include the song its inspired by as its title.

**"Miss Jackson" by Panic! at the Disco (feat. LOLO)  
Dyson/Kenzi**

The ‘how’ wasn’t important; It wasn’t important when this started and it certainly wasn’t important now. Dyson recalled that it was sometime just after she had broken up with Nate, but before the big Garuda show-down occurred. That brief period was filled with many drunken nights disguised as ‘end of the world as we know it’-parties, with himself as the sole attendee. Except for one night.

Dyson was sitting at the bar of the Dal, a good portion into his third bottle, when he noticed Kenzi tense up. He proceeded to watch her demand a bottle from Trick, she didn’t even ask for the good stuff this kind, and tear into it with a level of hunger he saw her only reserve for burgers and bad situations. He decided to join her because, hey! Misery loved company right? Well they certainly had plenty to spare.

In the beginning misery was like their unknown third partner, and they fed it incessantly. The days felt like years between Ciara, the Norn, and the Garuda. Each little occurrence punctuated with breathless kisses in the Dal’s storage room, late hours filled with sweat and pain and ecstasy, trying to distract themselves or each other from the reality they couldn’t bear to face alone in the dark hours of night.

For Dyson, it was a last desperate attempt to feel something again, which evolved into a comfortable habit to ground him to his life. An anchor, a respite, a time where he could lose himself and all the things he was meant to do but failed to succeed. It wasn’t until after Inari that he realized that the situation became flipped. Where once he sought to feel something, he now worked hard to offer something for her to feel. His distraction became his goal. Kenzi invaded his thoughts daily, just as persistent as a specter as she was in life. His wolf howled inside him, knowing that he was not enough. He should be enough. Why couldn’t he be enough for her?

The incident with Inari only defined what he felt into a fully formed coherence, punctuated with each bittersweet night they shared. She came to his bed less often now, and since the beginning he knew it had never been only him (something that enraged his animal instincts enough to mark her with bites and bruises everytime). She always smelled different, hiding her own scent(musky and sweet like an aged cherry liquor) with the pheromones of others. Often Hale, sometimes Vex, with many other different men peppered in between.

He tried his best at wordless coercion, softening the way he loved her and stretching its length until sunlight peeked through the windows or she had enough and ended it how she wanted to. She came to him less frequently now, so instead of pressing into her body with the level of force it would take to forget, he would gently map and trace her body with his eyes, hands, mouth. One particular night she had borrowed a skirt from Bo, and he thought she was so lovely in it that he sank to his knees and worshipped her for hours. Tongue soft and persistent against her heat as he edged her along until she was near sobbing. He didn’t see her for two weeks after that night.

This night she had been drunk, pounding on his door at 1:48 am, taking control and pushing him against the wall but never looking him in the eye. An hour later he lay satiated, wrapped in his sheets as he watched her get re-dressed. He didn’t wonder how he had gotten to this point, this kind of inevitability hadn’t mattered, but he did wonder how it was that she wasn’t there with him. Even if she never joined him, never allowed him to say the words, never permitted herself to wake up in the same bed she lay in, it wouldn’t matter: He would love her either way.


End file.
